Betrayed Me
by Igrayne01
Summary: One-Shot. Zevran, Taliesin, and Rinna, three Antivan Crows, accept a mission that forever changes the elven assassin. EDITED: I added another scene to build on what I had.


**Disclaimer: I wrote this story to elaborate more on the relationship between Zevran, Taliesin, and Rinna. The characters belong to Bioware.**

**

* * *

**He had intercepted the traveling caravan—which was laid up with a broken axle and sitting roadside in need of assistance—sometime before midday on the Long Road. The peasants in command of the colorful vehicle had drawn it into an outcropping of rock, where they were busily tending to repairs. As soon as the lithe elven man and his heavily armed band of thirty or so soldiers set foot in the camp, they were greeted by a sturdy blonde woman with pleasant-looking features.

"Ho, friends!" the woman cried in greeting, mustering as civil a tone as possible despite the circumstances. The blonde hair of the elf was tousled across his shoulders, decorated with intricate plaits and other such adornments. She knew from taking one look at his two sheathed swords that he meant business.

"Stay your weapons," Zevran said, lifting his hands to his men as the woman picked up her skirts and walked nearer them.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

Her rounded bosom jutted out, displaying a pair of perfectly-formed breasts. Despite this tantalizing distraction, Zevran focused his attention on the task at hand, his eyes narrowing to cold slits.

"It seems we have a common interest, my dear woman."

"Oh?" A pale brow arched in interest, though he could tell from her expression that she was still being cautious. Dozens of heads poked out from behind her, desperate to survey the new arrivals. "And what would that be?"

"There are four travelers headed this way; three women and one man. If you can lead them to us, then perhaps the coin necessary to fund those repairs you are in such desperate need of will simply… _materialize_ out of thin air. Do you understand me, my dear?"

His gloved hand patted the leather satchel that hung from his utility belt, a pleasant jangling sound accompanying the action. The blonde woman's eyes widened hungrily and she nodded.

"Of course, sir."

"Excellent. We have a deal then?"

"Certainly, sir."

They didn't have long to wait. Within minutes, the weary-looking travelers trudged up the worn, mottled green path at a slow and steady pace. Among them was a red-tressed cloistered sister in dirty Chantry robes, a provocatively attired witch-woman, an armor-clad Templar knight, and a petite woman with hair and eyes so dark and lovely that she would inspire even the bards back home in Antiva to sing songs of her beauty.

Zevran signaled his men to take cover. As they hopped behind the broken wagon and several boulders that lay scattered about, determined to use the terrain to their advantage, the elf stood and waited before a large rock, his hands poised dexterously on his swords for the inevitable clash that was to follow. He watched with pride as the woman rushed up, breathlessly, to the travelers and claimed that their wagon had been attacked.

_All too easy._

With all the pieces falling neatly into place, the elf wasn't prepared for what next hit him. Just before his grinning accomplice strode back to his side, his eyes landed on the dark-haired woman—one of his Grey Warden targets, according to the man who had hired him, Arl Rendon Howe. She was soft and curvaceous and quite appealing to the eye. The trepidation was apparent in her face as she approached the elf with tentative, dragging steps. As she came nearer, he was suddenly struck by the remembrance of who she resembled…

It was a face he had never expected to see again.

* * *

Antiva City's _The Lusty Princess_ was alive with laughter and song, the thumps of dancing and clapping, and brazen cheers of joy. Even the fire from the hearth seemed to writhe and twirl in time to the low-pitched notes emanating from the lute player in the corner. As the three Antivan Crows entered the seedy establishment, the tall, dark-haired man wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Maker! What is that smell?"

"Breathe it in, my friend!" Zevran said with a clap to his back. "It's the smell of desperation, hanging heavy and fetid in the air! My, but it does smell good, does it not?"

The third assassin—a woman with soft, supple blonde curls she had gathered into a high ponytail at the crown of her head—merely repeated Taliesin's sentiment.

"I agree… it stinks in here."

"Thankfully, we won't be here long. Once we conclude our business in the city we can get going back to the base," Taliesin informed them. His eyes scanned the room full of revelers like a hawk. "Now, to find my contact…"

A sweaty, mostly bald head popped up from behind the bar top, revealing a pleasantly plump man with little shadowy rings around his mouth. As soon as the two made eye contact, the bartender began furiously polishing an empty flagon with a damp rag, determined not to draw too much attention to himself. It had the entirely opposite effect, however.

"That would be him. The stupid, suspicious-looking git without an ounce of subtlety. You two wait here while I get us our room."

In their studded armor, the Crows would normally have drawn looks from every one of the tavern's denizens. But as they were all too involved in their merry-making at the moment, they had been able to slip in, undetected, with relative ease.

Zevran and the diminutive blonde woman, Rinna, walked toward an unoccupied booth in the back. Rinna hopped over to it and slid down and into the plush, leather-lined seat. The elven man followed suit, giving a little tug to the privacy curtain to make sure nobody would bother them. The forced proximity caused the elf to draw a little closer into the booth, the tips of his boots just brushing Rinna's own toes. The woman looked a little flustered, and Zevran thought he noticed a faint blush highlighting the apples of her cheeks. In order to disguise it, she stroked errant wisps of hair in front of her face, obstructing his view of her smiling, rosy visage.

"You'd think they would have at least briefed us before the big send-off," she complained, sounding unnecessarily whiny. "I dislike going into a job without knowing all the details."

"Patience, my dear," Zevran purred, his hand seeking hers. "Taliesin said he was going to tell us once we were alone in the room, yes?"

"I suppose so. I just don't like being left in the dark."

Though he said nothing, Zevran agreed. It was extremely unusual for Master Agustín to send them in unprepared. The elf just assumed there had been extenuating circumstances, something preventing him from divulging the full details of the mission up front. He shuddered a little to think about what could possibly compel the normally loquacious Master Agustín to remain so quiet and secretive.

A hand pulled back the curtain to reveal the two assassins in the middle of their private conversation. As Taliesin sidled into the booth without any excuse for the interruption, three mugs of some insidious-looking substance grasped in his hands, he haphazardly tossed a golden key in Zevran's direction. The elf caught it easily, his nimble fingers curling around the elongated shaft.

"Room 12, on the left. Go get settled in and make yourselves comfortable. I'm going to meet with our contact."

"And what are we to do, Taliesin, sit around twiddling our thumbs while you have all the fun?" Rinna spat. "I'm so sick of this."

"You'll sit in that room and wait until I come for you," Taliesin rasped, his face drawing so near to her that she could almost feel the bristles from his five o'clock shadow chafing at her skin. His gaze focused on Zevran. "You… you have any problem with this?"

"No, Taliesin."

"Good. Get going."

The wolfish man slithered away into the bustling bar, where he was prepared to meet with his contact. Zevran lifted the pale curtain with the back of his hand so Rinna could move out from under it, carrying with her the drink she had been nursing. They made their way down the narrow hallway, where drunken lovers had stumbled into the alcoves and were in various stages of undress, openly pawing at each other in plain view of everyone. Rinna tried her best not to look while Zevran merely chuckled.

"Here it is," he said, his hand turning the key in the lock.

"And not a moment too soon…" the woman replied with a definite note of gratitude in her voice.

The room was crammed with objects too numerous for the space itself. At the center, an ornate canopied bed dominated the space, leaving room only for a single chair and desk, a chest to stow their luggage and any other goods, and a freestanding wardrobe. Pieces of artwork hung from every wall, adding to the clutter. A soothing floral scent—that verged on the overpowering side—flooded their nostrils as they entered. It was obvious the tavern's proprietors had tried to disguise the usual smell of urine, vomit, and other bodily excrements that were no doubt to be found in such rooms.

"Well, isn't this nice and homey," Rinna joked.

"It will suit our purposes, and that is enough, no?"

"I suppose," the blonde woman said, flinging herself onto the bed. She bounced slightly, buoyed by the mattress. "It's just… well, what's the sleeping arrangement going to be like? There's only one bed, and I'm not really the _sharing_ type."

With a devilish tug of the lips, Zevran said, "Ten sovereigns says you will change your mind by morning, my dear."

"Don't even think about it!" Rinna said, flinging a fluffy pillow at him. His hands caught it before it had the chance to connect with his left eye.

"If you'd prefer we slept on the floor…"

Jutting out her bottom lip, she shook her head. "No… no, that won't do. Oh, fine! Maker's breath! I guess I'll have to sleep between you two. You know, just to make sure you don't put the moves on Taliesin or something. He's really paranoid about that lately."

Ignoring the remark, Zevran said, "I think secretly you desire to lay beside me, my dear. I can see that naughty little glint in your eye. It just gives you away!"

Mesmerized by his full lips, only inches from her own as he moved over her on the bed, she whispered, "Well, change _beside_ to _with_ and then maybe we have a deal…"

Had she really just said that? Overjoyed, Zevran leaned in and kissed her, their lips expressing the longing they had never before shared until now. Their lips separated and he smiled.

"Rinna…"

He had spent many long months admiring her. So much so that to come to this point and finally be presented with the opportunity to tell her all the feelings he had developed for her was almost surreal. Just as he struggled for the words to give voice to all his long-suppressed desires, a knock at the door brought him back to reality.

"_Taliesin!_" Zevran spat.

Rinna sighed beneath him, looking frustrated. "Not the first name a girl wants to hear when she's being romanced."

She sat up and brushed herself off to make sure she wasn't too rumpled-looking as Zevran opened the door. The tall man stormed inside, making himself right at home as he sat down at the desk and undid the lacings on his boots.

"Rinna, go get us some dinner."

"Excuse me?" she balked.

Narrowing his eyes, Zevran said, "Is this really necessary?"

"I said _go get us some dinner_. Do it now. Unless you'd like to be the one who explains to Master Agustín why we failed our mission—due to our being half-delirious from empty bellies—in which case, by all means."

Silently, the small woman stalked across the room and exited, slamming the door behind her. The elf practically cringed at the sound.

"Surely you did not need to be so firm with her. We are in this together, are we not?"

Taliesin lifted both legs on top of the desk, crossing his half-undone boots. From his vantage point, Zevran could see every little grime-covered groove on his soles, every little shaft of hair that peppered his tanned legs, every muscle that tensed as he leaned his weight back against the chair. It was as though the other man was taunting him.

"We need to talk about Rinna."

"What about her?"

"My contact tells me she has been feeding information to our mark and is planning to betray us after we kill him."

"Surely you are joking, my friend."

"I wish I was, Zevran, but from the looks of things, she's been planning to double-cross us for a while now."

"Why would Master Agustín not have warned us beforehand were this true?"

With both hands laced together, Taliesin smoothed down his greasy black hair and jutted his prominent chin upward into the air.

"Master Agustín obviously knows nothing of her plan. Which is why we need to take matters into our own hands and kill her before she has the chance to do us in."

"Kill her?"

Zevran's breath snagged in his throat as the image of her smiling, shining face stole into his mind. She was so unlike the other women he had romanced. She was blonde, for a start. And the indomitable spirit that possessed her whenever she was in the midst of an assignment was enviable, to say the least. But more than all that, she was a highly capable fighter gifted with an acute sense of dedication that allowed her to distill her own personal struggles and sentiments into deadly accuracy. He had never known another woman who could wield a weapon as well as she could.

"Getting soft on me, my old friend?" Taliesin teased with a wide smile.

"No, of course not. But how are we to be sure your sources can be trusted?"

Taliesin's boots dropped from the table and he sat stark upright in his seat. A single eyebrow arched.

"Do you… _feel_ something for her, Zevran, that is preventing you from doing the duty you swore to do? Because if so, tell me now."

Was that jealousy the elf detected in his old friend's smoldering eyes? There had always been something between them, lying dormant beneath the surface, but Zevran had always assumed the other man was too scared to act on it. With the way he was behaving now, it certainly hinted that there was something more to his feelings than a mere sense of _duty_…

"No, I feel nothing."

"Good. Then it should make things easier, shouldn't it?"

"Yes, Taliesin."

Even as the words left his lips, he felt as though he was standing in the corner watching another person speak them. He had readily agreed to murder the one woman capable of softening his hardened heart, a thought that frightened him beyond measure. He was uncertain what to do with these feelings and felt tired at the prospect of having them resurfacing again and remaining unresolved. Taliesin was right; if Rinna truly was throwing her lot in with the opposition, then death was a suitable punishment for her insubordination.

Rinna returned minutes later with unappetizing-looking food she had procured from the tavern's overworked larder and then sat down with them for the briefing. After they ate and dressed for bed, Zevran sat reflecting over the mission documents at the desk, the moonlight just beginning to creep through the window. Taliesin had curled up beneath the giant patterned comforter, and Rinna lay beside him, her golden curls sprawled across the pillow. From time to time, the elf allowed his eyes to dart over and land on Rinna's beautiful visage, so perfect and porcelain even in repose. His heart pounded at the thought of what he would have to do to her tomorrow, when their assassination was complete. He imagined her lying face-up in a pool of her own blood, and the thought wrenched his stomach.

"Coming to bed?" a feminine voice trilled from across the room. Turning about, he saw that Rinna was now sitting up, the blanket having fallen below her shoulders to reveal a painfully thin ribcage and collarbones that jutted out. She had taken diet and exercise a little too seriously, but he still found her beautiful. Those dark eyes of hers were so mesmerizing that he found himself staring, entranced, into them and wishing he would never have to look away.

"In a moment. I…"

The expectant look on her face was all the persuasion he needed. Freeing himself of his armor, the elf made his way to the bed in only a pair of breeches, lifting the blanket to slide under. Rinna immediately moved over, pressing her body up to him. Her skin was like fire, igniting every nerve ending in his body.

"I'm cold. Warm me up?"

Tentatively, he grasped both arms around her, and in that moment all his ceaseless wondering of what it would feel like to hold her was instantly quelled. The soft weight of her body against him was so comforting that he found himself enjoying it entirely, much to his chagrin.

Caught up in the moment, he craned his neck to seek out her lips. As they began to kiss chastely, he could feel her trembling in his arms.

"Don't," she warned him, drawing back slightly, her face wet and glistening. Was she crying? "It's too complicated."

Without any explanation, Rinna rolled over and tried for sleep. Zevran just lay staring up at the vaulted canopy of the bed, his thoughts wandering in conflicted circles. Eyes fluttering closed, he drifted off to a restless sleep that, for the remainder of the night, was fragmented by dreams, thoughts, and memories of home… of his mother… of the whorehouse… of _Rinna_.

* * *

When he woke, Rinna had already left and Taliesin was just finishing getting dressed. As the man pulled on his studded armor, Zevran stirred, his head feeling like a crowd of nugs had just finished having a party in it. He had drunk a little too much with dinner, hadn't he? Perhaps that was what had emboldened him to make a move on Rinna, a move she had so firmly rebuffed last night.

"Rise and shine, Zev," the other man said with a crooked smile. "It's show time."

The elf dressed quickly and followed the other man out into the tavern's common room, which was suspiciously devoid of patrons at this early hour. At the center of the room, Rinna sat waiting, looking tired and haggard in her Dalish armor and matching leather boots; it was clear she had not slept well at all the entire night. That she refused to meet Zevran's eyes as soon as he entered the room was as much proof to him of her guilt as he needed, insulted as he was by her rejection of him the previous night. Though he dared not voice his insecurities, she had wounded him more deeply than anyone else could had ever done. As he struggled to make sense of just why that was, his mind cautioned him against treading that path.

"We ready to go?" Rinna croaked, her voice a frog-like whisper.

"Yes, just follow my lead and stay sharp," Taliesin instructed.

The short walk to the alley was uneventful, the only sound being Taliesin's labored breathing as he trudged along the muddy ponds through a little light drizzle. As the ominous sky darkened at an alarming rate, pulling a dusty curtain overhead, the three assassins ducked for cover in an adjoining alleyway.

"Now what?" Rinna asked.

"We wait. Our mark should be coming by here any minute now."

True to his word, their mark—a princely sort of fellow with pompous red and yellow, jewel-bedecked garments and a jaunty feather in his cap—ambled by moments later with a battalion of armed guards. Taliesin drew his crossbow from his shoulder and aimed down the scope to fire a quick burst at the man. He took his target down in one perfect shot, but the alarmed guards quickly drew arms against them. As the three assassins filed out of their hiding spot, drawing their blades, the attackers descended on them in fury. The clash of the combatants echoed through the vault-like streets of the city. Zevran lunged and parried with his swords, his body adopting a musical rhythm as he fended off his attackers. Within minutes, they had made short work of their targets, and silence descended once again on the dirty back alley.

Turning slowly, Taliesin gripped his swords harder and walked toward Rinna with malicious intent. Zevran's heart began wildly beating in his chest even as he watched his friend corner her against the wall.

"Zev…" she said with desperation, looking to him for help. The elf merely retained his cool, calculated gaze upon her as Taliesin prowled toward her. She struggled, but to no avail; the larger man soon had her pinned against the wall, his hand clutching her by the hair, smashing her face against the stone over and over again until blood covered her cheeks.

"Not such a little clever bitch _now_, are you?" Taliesin spat into her ear even as she wailed with the pain. He tossed her to the ground and put his boot in her stomach, pinioning her to the spot. "I didn't know your loyalty could be bought so easily. Or did you _really_ think you could betray us? Shows how bloody smart you are, filthy little whore."

"I _didn't_… I _never_…"

Any answer she was going to supply him with was cut off by his fist colliding with her jaw.

"You want to deny it again?"

"_I'm innocent…_"

He took her arm and wrenched it in the opposite direction. The sickening crack and ear-piercing scream that followed made Zevran want to retch. He couldn't stand by and watch the woman he loved be tortured. His hand tightened upon the hilt of his sword as he walked forward. Instinctively, Taliesin's neck snapped back and he fix the elf with a stare that made him think the better of it.

"What say you, Zev? You think this bitch is as innocent as she claims?"

After a measured pause, he whispered, "No."

"Then you should have no problem watching her die."

"Please, no!" Rinna begged, falling to her knees as she was unable to support herself. Her long blonde hair had tumbled out of its ponytail and onto her shoulders, though it had lost its sheen. It was lusterless, stained with her own blood and filled with bits of twig and dirt.

"Zev, please help me!" the broken woman pleaded. "You know I love you and I would never do anything like this…"

Her declaration elicited a chortle of glee from the dark-haired man, who simply looked at the elf as though to say, "Can you believe this?"

"_Oh_, I shall enjoy this… Come on, Zevran. Help me restrain your _lover_."

He said the word with a callously mocking tone. Zevran knew better than to cross him, so he strode forward, both hands grasping her arms though his courage hung by a thread. When Taliesin became infected with blood lust, he was rarely able to dissuade him, or so he had learned in the past… Doing so would only mean trouble.

Zevran struggled to still his hands even as they quivered on her shoulders. With both knees firmly planted in the dirt, the now delicate-looking woman looked up to him with a desperate plea in her watery eyes.

"Zevran, don't do this," she said even as her teeth chattered with fear. "You know I would never do anything to hurt you or to betray the trust of a fellow Crow! I love you..."

Her lips quivered as she said the words, and for a moment it appeared as though she had thought the better of having blurted out her feelings in so blunt a manner.

"Even if that were true, my dear... _I don't care_," he said coolly, looking down at her in an almost bored manner from behind half-closed lids. Nothing could have been further from the truth at that moment, but his utter devotion to the Crows seemed to override all decency he normally would have shown a woman in her position, begging for her life on her knees. The fact she had used his feelings toward her to blind him to the truth of her misdeeds was unforgivable, and all sense of mercy, compassion, and respect for her life in that moment was instantly burned out of him. He hardened his heart toward her as he had been taught to do by Taliesin many times before. And then he nodded once to the broad-nosed man beside him to indicate they had done speaking.

With one swish of the blade, Taliesin slit Rinna's throat. With a final, gasping sigh, her head fell backward, blood seeping through a single crimson sliver at her exposed neck. Even as she knelt there dying, staring up at him with terror etched into her face, Zevran struggled to remain unaffected, resisting the urge to reach out and grab her as she fell. As the sweet, thick blood coursed from the wound, both men released her arms, letting her fall to the ground with an unceremonious thud. The sight of her body lying lifeless in the muddy ditch before them stirred the elven assassin's heart, though he tried to still convince himself he felt nothing by spitting on her corpse.

"For the Crows," he said.

"Serves her right… filthy traitor," Taliesin spat. Then, looking to his companion, he added, "Now, let's get what we came for."

They rifled through the downed merchant prince's personal effects until they came to a letter exposing a few of his nefarious misdeeds. As Taliesin devoured its contents hungrily, he snickered.

"Seems the bitch may have been telling the truth after all. No mention of her anywhere in here. Remind me to beat my contact's skull in when we get back to the tavern."

Aghast, the elven assassin momentarily halted in his tracks to digest this news. What he said next came to his lips without any forethought.

"Rinna... _is dead_. And all because of your mistake, Taliesin. It hardly seems an appropriate time for jokes." The elf's voice had turned suddenly indignant.

"Don't worry, Zev. We'll cook up a story for when we get back, something to tell Master Agustín."

"How about the truth, for once?"

"The truth?" Taliesin seemed to find this particularly funny. "I've never known _you_ to take the moral high ground, Zevran. Why the sudden change of heart, old chap? She's just some stupid biddy who got mixed up in a bad deal, is all. Obviously my contact had some beef with her and wanted her offed."

With surprising speed and agility, Zevran caught the neckline of the other man's armor and pulled him forward in one blindingly fast movement. Taliesin's eyes widened slightly, but he kept the calm composure that was so characteristic of him.

"I will play your games no more, Taliesin."

"You want to tell Master Agustín the truth? Fine. Go right ahead. But don't come crawling to me when trouble comes knocking at your door, friend. And believe me, Zevran, it will."

He chose his words carefully, and they hit their target, as intended. As soon as he began weighing the consequences of their actions in his mind, the elf was convinced that telling the truth would only further alienate him from his friends and peers, and then rumors would begin to circulate, and then... his dismissal—or execution?—would be inevitable. All too risky.

"Very well. We do things your way this once, Taliesin: The girl died in the attempt. We were unable to revive her."

The man smirked as the elf loosened his grip on his armor, allowing him the chance to escape.

"I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking."

Snickering softly, Taliesin stuffed the letter into his belt and trudged ahead, leaving Zevran to glance over his shoulder once more at the corpse.

Had he perhaps been bred to understand more about sorrow and regret, he would have whispered such sentiments to her now. But the words halted on his tongue, and he lapsed into silence.

* * *

In the aftermath of that fateful day, heartbroken and disgusted by his own actions—and even more so by his inability to come to terms with them—Zevran had returned to the Antivan Crows and made a bid on a job that so many of his fellow comrades believed to be a suicide mission: kill any remaining Grey Wardens of Ferelden. In his first audience with Arl Howe, the man had explained to him that he was to be thorough and brutal. They didn't want it coming to light that they had hired an assassin to eliminate what had become, to them, a constant thorn in their side. He was to be doubly compensated for his silence concerning the matter—an excellent deal if ever there was one.

Zevran had stood waiting in the shadows of a rather ornate meeting hall just before mid-afternoon, the sunlight streaming through the large solar windows as two men conversed before the hearth. The one known as Loghain had adopted a snobby, disinterested look as his regent droned on about things for which Zevran had little care. All that mattered was this man's enormous pocket and the fact that it would be shortly lining the Crows' own coffers.

"I also have an interesting report," his employer, Arl Howe, a man with sniveling voice, said. "There seem to be Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar. How, I don't know, but they will act against you. I have arranged for a… a _solution_—with your leave."

He extended his hand toward the shadows and Zevran emerged in full regalia, inclining his head in a greeting.

"The Antivan Crows send their regards."

The shrewd man's eyes narrowed perceptibly, looking disgusted.

"An assassin?"

"Against Grey Wardens, we will need the very best," Howe assured him.

With a dangerous chuckle, Zevran supplied, "And the most expensive."

After a long pause, Loghain waved a hand dismissively in the elf's direction, rasping, "Just get it done."

He gave no command for them to leave, but it was evident in his tone that the elf's presence there was no longer desired. Zevran bowed before slowly backing away, his armor bathed in a softish green-gold tinge as the sun kissed every inch of his body. Unseen by Loghain, he allowed a devious smile to creep to his lips before exiting the chamber.

_Fate is a fickle whore indeed_, he thought with satisfaction, realizing this was one job that would, at last, grant him the heroic death he had long sought. Despite his past grievances, all the pieces of the puzzle were now falling perfectly into place. No one else had wanted the contract, so he was in luck. He had taken the job fully expecting and hoping to die at the hands of the troublesome travelers—and that was how he now found himself standing here before the beautiful dark-eyed woman who looked so much like Rinna.

Everything—from the same jaw line, to the same full mouth, to the same high cheekbones—was Rinna's. Even the way she looked at him, uncertain of just who he was or what he was doing there, was reminiscent of her.

His heart hardened at the sight of her, at his own bitter contempt for himself. He delivered the signal to his men with one calculating drop of his hand. Immediately, they abandoned their hiding places and appeared to flank the four lone travelers. If the woman wasn't confused before, she certainly was now.

Strengthening his resolve, Zevran gripped both swords in his hands and dropped into a defensive stance.

"The Grey Warden dies here!"

And die they would… in much the same way as she had before uttering her last declaration of love for him. Love was hopeless and improbable, and Zevran was determined to prove _just that_ as he launched himself into a spinning jump, his blades whirling about in circles.


End file.
